Chapter 7
THE POISONER
“Another one?” I poked the pale corpse with my boot. “This is the third one this month.”
“Unfortunately.” Rebecca adjusted her grip on the hilt of the hatchet.
The body still twitched, but it was undoubtedly dead. Its head was three meters away from where it was supposed to be attached to the torso, leaving a trail of black sludge in the snow from where it rolled.
The body was pale and skinny, even for a grown man.
The feral corrupted had a very particular look, like their own body was eating away at them, their nerves fired up like they were made of gunpowder.
Even with the head detached, his dried and curled lips twitched as the skin tightened around his skull.
Recently, we have had a problem with the corrupted.
It was not until we settled here that we could see the full extent of how invasive a newly turned corrupted could be without accessible Dens to feed within.
They were like animals looking to scavenge for anything they could.
If a corrupted consumed blood every day in a Den, they could possibly be functioning members of society.
That is what the other Vipera claimed, at least. They say if a corrupted doesn’t eat, the lack of sustenance starts to eat away at their brain, wreaking havoc on their organs, driving them into a rabid state.
Which is why it was rare that a well-fed corrupted lived past thirty—possibly to fifty if they took exceptional care of their condition.
For this reason, Vipera preferred to behead the humans they killed during feeding if they weren’t Hosts, as Hosts don’t have this problem when they turn; they have all the right parts hidden deep within their bodies.
The hysteria is too much, and a low profile is paramount in their world.
The increase in incidents unnerved me. Especially with a house full of Hosts.
“Don’t mention this to anyone yet,” I muttered. “I will dig around. I don’t know which Guild these are coming from, but I will figure it out.”
“Are you sure you want to hide something like this?” Phoebe looked up at me as she crouched next to the body. “I can understand if it were just one every few months like before, but they’re becoming too frequent.”
“It could just be the same group; maybe this was the last of them.” I stepped over the body to get another look.
The two exchanged glances without a spoken word. I know they don’t like keeping things from the Nest, but it would hurt us more if we were too high-strung or lost our heads.
Rebecca frowned as she hoisted the hatchet over her shoulder, shifting on her heels as she waited for me to give instructions.
While everyone loved to tell me what they thought, they never had an actionable plan. It was of the utmost importance that we were able to think several steps ahead of an incident.
“Drag him to the river. This one isn’t ours, so no harm in sending him off the property.” I pushed the corpse’s languid shoulder with my shoe to see if it would move again.
Rebecca nodded, but the tension in her jaw told me we were not in agreement on the next steps.
Phoebe adjusted the strap of the shotgun over her shoulder, letting out a puff of frozen breath as thoughts knit at her taut brow.
“I’ll check with Henry today, see if the morgue was busier than usual.” I pressed the back of my neck in an attempt to release the knot in my shoulder.
“Have you told him yet?” Phoebe’s eyes snapped in my direction.
“Told him what?”
“About the corrupted, the Vipera. Has he not wondered what all these things are?”
“He wouldn’t believe me even if I told him.” I shrugged. “Henry is the practical type, too analytical for his own good.”
“That sounds familiar,” Rebecca snorted.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before it disappeared again when I looked toward the head of our specimen.
In the near distance, the head sat upright, staring blankly in our direction. The jaw was slouched, tipping the head to the right as the empty eyes stared through us.
One thing I could never understand is how something could go from feeling the entire spectrum of human behavior, only to be stripped of it entirely.
The worst thing I could imagine, next to death, would be becoming the thing you hated the most. Often people fantasize about losing themselves, to not have to take control of their lives.
But I could imagine no pain worse than the emptiness that must come from becoming a shell of your former self.
The flat above the shop was not strictly for deconstructing subjects. Most of my time in my lab was used for many other miscellaneous tasks, such as distilling venom, concentrating poison, or just making tallow candles.
Today, I was to process the blood I had extracted a few nights ago.
The process was simpler than making an extract out of plants, though I did that as well.
It was safer to use Vipera blood as poison since it was untraceable, and it did not take much to kill a human with it.
When I diluted it, it turned almost a violet color when the black was dispersed.
The other half of the volume was kept for research.
The blood was marketed as a pest control, for which purpose it worked remarkably well, though many had been known to use it for nasty things such as unfavorable husbands and other such men.
While it was rewarding to give relief to those in terrible situations, I was delighted with my new branch of study.
From the Vipera saliva, blood, and venom, I was able to offset more pain than just ridding the world of the creatures of man.
The saliva was strictly a healing agent, but we had not yet found the best way to extract it in the quantity that we needed.
Venom was our best painkiller, but it was riskier to use and had more side effects, and yet it was slightly easier to collect than spit.
Blood was plentiful. It was the only easy part of the process.
During my research, I found that if the solution was composed of less than five milliliters of venom, it would not turn the subject if they happened to die.
While the risks of turning were heavy, the remedies had worked on most pains from arthritis, womanly aches, and even harsher injuries, rendering something as severe as an amputation into a light throb.
As much as I hated the gimmicks of peddlers, this was truly a miracle elixir.
Unfortunately for myself, my time with this chemical inside and outside my body was forming a tolerance.
I had begun concentrating it further for my own personal uses, but I would advise against such things if I were to prescribe to another.
While I understood this was a problem, it was one for another time.
It was the only thing that relieved me of my existential existence on this earth, in this town, in this very shop.
I did not understand the feelings myself most days, as I had no reason to be in such a depressed state. I had a family now, friends, and love that could thaw even the coldest of hearts. So why did mine feel like a stone forgotten under a late-winter’s sleet?
“Are you ready?” a voice called from downstairs. Phoebe.
“Finishing now!” I shouted, tucking the used needles into the drawer in the workbench. I cuffed my sleeves down my arm before taking a long, deep breath to collect myself.
Outside the shop, Edith and Phoebe sat next to one another in the front of the wagon as they waited.
The weight of the wagon shifted as I stepped up into the back, taking a seat behind them.
Some things never changed. There were certain traditions that were held most sacred.
For Phoebe and me, it was our morning strolls.
Only recently did she allow guests on our little promenades.
Edith was usually in attendance, but that was only because it was important to include her.
She was a flighty thing, not the best at making friends, which I could relate to with a heavy heart.
The park we frequented was a quiet one. There were many trails for walking. Benches were scattered along the water for viewing pleasure, or if you preferred to walk, there were stone bridges to look over the water and feed the ducklings in spring.
There were more limited activity options in winter, as there were no ducks, no color, no flowers to enjoy.
I wanted to like winter, but it was all too sad for me.
Despite my morbid attire, I enjoyed the color and sounds of nature.
There were no plants to steal cuttings from and no birds to sing to me when morning came around.
I still had my crows, who were darlings when it came to cleaning up messes.
Phoebe needed these walks more than I did.
It was some attempt to maintain whatever remained of normalcy from our past. Many days, I could see that she missed her life from before.
The days when there was a reason to keep up appearances and take advantage of the finer things in life.
She somehow still found a way to keep up her fashionable tastes, even on a budget.
Today she wore a wool skirt and matching overcoat.
It was dyed a deep magenta with white rabbit trim.
She had a matching fur hand muff, as well.
Edith wore a green walking suit with a matching cape. The fur trim was a natural brown around her sleeves and neck. She did not wear a head covering today, but she usually chose to wear her golden curls up with a hat that matched the trim of her coat.
Two sets of green eyes stared at me as if waiting for me to respond.
“Did you ask me something?” I took a drag of my cigarette from the long, thin holder.
“I asked if we could plan a white elephant swap for Christmas. It would really mean a lot to the girls,” Phoebe said.
“I don’t see why not.” I shrugged.
“You seemed lost in thought before,” Edith said from my right side.
“I think many things, at many times. I thought that was what walks were for.”
“You spend more time in your head than you do with the living.” Phoebe hooked on to my left arm.
I held the cigarette holder to my lips again, breathing deep before letting it all go again. The weather made me want to sleep rather than walk. Though with how warm I was getting under my dress, I think I could manage to sleep in a snowdrift.
“When are you going to tell the others about our pest problem?” Phoebe raised a fine brow.
“After the holidays,” I answered.
“Do you mean the corrupted?” Edith chimed in, glaring past me at Phoebe. “They are no more pests than you or I. It is not their fault.”
Here we go again.
“Well, we do not rip through people so recklessly.” Phoebe’s brow twitched. “We are sophisticated. They are just turned.”
“I was turned.”
“But you are civil and sensible. You were also a Host.”
“What does being a Host have to do with it? You are just a purist.”
“They are not meant to be turned; mellifluous are different. It is cruel to turn typical men and cut their lives short.”
“They are like children; you can mold them and show them the way, show them how to live in the little time they have left.”
“Children who could tear through us as easily as warmed bread fresh from the oven.”
“Enough, both of you.” I narrowed my eyes on Phoebe.
“Are you taking her side?” Phoebe gasped.
“I am not taking anyone’s side. I would like to avoid politics on our walks.” I had burned through the cigarette, it was more unashed dust than it was paper.
“I told you I don’t like it when you speak of them that way. You are disgusted by the wrong thing. They don’t have anyone to show them how to control it,” Edith continued.
“Maybe you should show them on your own since you are so adamant about charity cases.”
“No,” I interrupted, “I can barely feed the two of you, we don’t have any more room without taking on new people, and we barely have rooms for those we have already. No more of this.”
The two of them glared at each other, but thankfully did not speak another word on the subject.
“I’m thinking of goose for Christmas,” I broke the silence. “We can splurge for a few large ones, also some fruit and wine.”
“I love that idea,” Edith hummed. “Could we spare some money for another cylinder for the phonograph? I would love to get one with Christmas carols on it! For the ambiance of course.”
“That is fine.” I glanced at Phoebe, who was still quiet. She was lost in thought. “Phoebe?”
“Hmm?” She blinked up at me.
“What were you thinking for presents?”
“Well, I was thinking we all get a small allowance and pick names from a hat so we can all get each other something or make it ourselves. It would be fun, I thought, but it might be silly.” She blushed.
There was something bothering her; she always second-guessed herself when she had something else on her mind.
“I think it would be a lovely idea. That way no one is left out.” I nudged her. “You are the expert of these things. I do not know how to organize parties aside from deciding what cups go with what liquor.”
Edith laughed at my remark, and I earned a small smirk from Phoebe. That was enough for me.
“How about we go window shopping? We have walked the whole length of the park at this point. Come,” I said, as we turned onto the footbridge, the street opening up to us as we exited the park.
The streets were rousing with people going about their business or leisure. We walked to our favorite street to gaze at all the displays in the windows.
Phoebe always lingered around this one fur shop that she liked, though we promised we would not cling to anything too material.
It did not stop me from asking the furrier how many rabbits I would have to shoot in order to get a full coat.
The answer to that was about thirty for a full set of anything.
We told ourselves we would be sustainable and refrain from buying anything frivolous. Any sound mind would find it suspicious if we accrued too many expensive things.
As I watched Phoebe scan the windows, Edith tugged on my sleeve.
I glanced down at her. Those deep green eyes peered up at me nervously. Edith had a hard time asking for anything; she was not one for confrontation most days, but she was able to speak up if she was passionate enough about a subject.
“I do not mean to be a bother, but could we head home soon? I would like to feed before my shift if it is possible,” she bit her lip, her gaze briefly darting to Phoebe.
“Ah, yes. I forgot. After this block, we can head back,” I assured her.
She smiled and nodded at me, holding my arm and resting her head against my shoulder as we walked. She was a gentle soul, a golden heart. Unlike myself, Edith was one of those people who would give even a rabid bear a second chance.